


Come to Me, Sweet Thing

by ladyhabanera



Series: Sugar Mommy Moira [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (ever so slightly) - Freeform, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Heavy Petting, I know nothing about Zurich, I'm relying on Google so much y'all, Mentioned Reaper76, Overwatch is gay, POV Moira, POV reader, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Sugar Mommy!Moira, Sugar baby Reader, Sugar mommy relationship, Thigh-Riding, Vaginal Fingering, hinted plus-size reader, i'm very gay for Moira, lena is your best friend, mentioned Pharmercy, mentioned mcgenji, so bear with me here, sorry I don't make the rules - Freeform, takes place pre-retribution, taking liberties with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyhabanera/pseuds/ladyhabanera
Summary: You arrive in Zurich to study, but money is tight... Luckily, Lena has a suggestion.





	1. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I know I have other WIPs to finish but I'm absolutely obsessed with sugar momma Moira. This fic is just gonna be what it's gonna be, i.e. me living vicariously through my writing because I'm very in love with this pointy lesbian.

“Overwhelmed” didn’t quite capture how Y/N was feeling when she stepped off the plane in Kloten Airport. Around her were hurried conversations in a mixture of German, French, and English that muddled in the terminal to make a continuous, low humming of voices. Men, women, and Omnics passed her in fine dress that had her nervously plucking at the hem of her navy-blue blouse. She knew she was in the right place (she’d checked her ticket and phone multiple times), but it didn’t detract from how excited yet out of place she felt.

The opportunity to study in Zurich was, honestly, one that was too good to pass up. The University of Zurich had taken particular interest in her undergraduate research in linguistics even though she was not so long out of her Bachelor’s degree.  Her shining reputation as a student in the States spoke volumes, as did her mentors and departmental committee. As a Master’s and doctoral candidate she was a highly desirable academic asset and protégée. They’d offered her a stipend for tuition, even. But more than that, she had a thirst for knowledge and adventure that brought her overseas to a hotspot for United Nations activity, university research, and, what she considered an exciting adventure: the Swiss Overwatch Headquarters, with whom the University was aligned.

The University of Zurich’s scientists and academics aided in Overwatch efforts. Dr. Angela Ziegler herself was a renowned alumnus of the University of Zurich, and her work was highly lauded and valuable in both the academic and medical communities. Though they were in entirely different disciplines (a doctorate in linguistics certainly wasn’t comparable to a doctorate in medicine), she admired Dr. Ziegler both as a researcher and as a member of Overwatch. It would be her delight to interact with any of Overwatch’s scientists, pick their brains a little and delve into what connected so many brilliant people and fueled their work: a drive to reveal truths, to help others, to simply learn.

That was still some time away though. For the moment, she had just arrived in Switzerland, luggage in hand, and needed to do three things: find her living quarters, settle in, and explore the city.

Y/N’s close friend, Lena Oxton, was due to meet her at the airport and help her navigate to the University. They had met as children when Y/N’s mother had taken her on a business trip to London, and had they stayed in touch over the years. It was partially their friendship that drew Y/Nto an Overwatch hotspot to study, alongside the incentive that the University had given her.

Y/N stood on tip-toes to search the crowd for her friend and broke out into a wide grin when she saw Lena’s untamable hair bouncing as she raced forward. She was wearing a bright blue hooded sweater that went past her hips, graffiti-patterned leggings, and sneakers. Lena collided into Y/N and pulled her into a hug. Her size belied her strength, and Y/N gave an _oof_ as thin arms constricted around her and something oddly shaped pressed into her chest.

“Y/N! It’s been so long!” Lena was practically bouncing, and she spoke quickly. “I can’t believe you’re here. So much has happened since I last saw you! I don’t know where to start!”

Y/N laughed. “It’s good to see you too, Lena.” She pulled back to look at her. “Overwatch is treating you well.”

“You know it. I’ll tell you all about it when we get you settled. Let’s get out of this airport first. I imagine you’re ready to go. To the train?”

“Absolutely.” Y/N shouldered her carry-on backpack and grasped the handle of her suitcase.

At her side, Lena talked animatedly, wildly gesticulating with her hands. Y/N knew that a lot of Lena’s life with Overwatch had to be kept confidential, but her friend still managed to find things to talk about, mostly about life in Zurich: places to go, to eat, to shop.

The train to Zurich felt just as crowded as the airport, but in a much smaller space. She resisted a rising feeling of claustrophobia and found their seats – D2 and D3 – to wait for departure. The other passengers largely ignored them, save one mousy woman who glared at Y/N when her wide hips bumped her. _Sorry for taking up space_ , Y/N thought sarcastically. The ride wouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes, and she had Lena to keep her company.

From the train station, they took the tram to the University. Studio apartments not far from campus were available for students, and though they were cheaper than other housing in the city, rent was going to be tight. In spite of the struggle with costs, Y/N’s family and friends had encouraged her to take this offer. She figured that maybe she could make some money as a graduate assistant.

Her apartment was easy enough to find, and the other dormitory residents - primarily graduate students like herself - were approachable and helpful. A petite young woman had offered to help carry her luggage, but Y/N declined; she and Lena could manage. The studio was rather spartan, but still furnished with a bed, a chest of drawers, a small desk and chair, and a round table in the kitchen nook. There was also an alcove that served as a closet.

“Y/N, this is darling,” Lena said. “Just put out some flowers and hang a few paintings and put a comfy quilt on your bed, and your flat with be absolutely cozy!”

Y/N smiled. Lena was always ever the optimist, but she was right. She could make this space _hers_ and make herself a home where she was, despite being so far from where her roots were.

She and Lena set about unpacking and putting away her clothing and belongings before taking stock of what she still needed. She had enough of her travel-size shampoo, conditioner, and soap to last for a few more days, so that could be put off. If they went out to eat for dinner, she wouldn’t have to worry about food until at least tomorrow morning. She deserved a treat after that twelve-hour plane ride, and it would help to stretch her legs and catch up with everything else that had happened in Lena’s life since they’d last seen each other.

Y/N was hopeful; she was excited. This was a new adventure, and a new chapter in her life.

_Well, Zurich, I’m here._

* * *

 

For all her positivity and enthusiasm, it turned out that Y/N’s first two weeks in Zurich could have definitely gone better. She lost her tram pass, which set her back more Euros than she’d like to admit. Apparently, there was a policy that graduates in their first semester didn’t qualify as graduate assistants; for at least the next four months, she had no income. The proverbial straw the broke the camel’s back was that it had rained the first three days of classes, which really wasn’t a problem, but it just dampened her mood as well as everything she had on her during the walk to campus.

Now, at the end of the week, she was looking at her finances and worrying. She’d have enough for next week’s groceries, but not enough for the rent due in two weeks. Y/N fought the panic rising in her throat. How the hell was she going to do this? She couldn’t really seek employment, because her visa was for study, not work.

_Oh, God._ Y/N thought. _What if I get evicted and can’t stay in Zurich? I’ve come to far to go home now. I’m living my dream. I can’t give this up._

Sitting at her desk in front of her laptop, she put her head in her hands. What the hell was she going to do? Distraught, she opened the online messenger she used to communicate with her friends; she needed another brain to help her out. She opened her conversation with Lena.

Y/N: _I’m freaking out_

It wasn’t even fifteen seconds later that Lena had responded and her computer gave the _blip_ of a notification.

Lena: _whoa whoa what’s going on?_

Y/N: _Money, money’s what’s going on_

Lena: _oh no. i thought you were gonna be a grad assistant or something?_

Y/N: _That was the plan, but there’s a policy that grad students in their first semester can’t be assistants blah blah blah_

Lena: _well bullocks… and your visa’s not for work is it?_

Y/N: _Mmmnope_

Lena: _there’s gotta be something you can do_

Lena: _that’s, y’know, legal_

Y/Nsnorted.

Y/N: _Yeah, because my first idea was totally to sell a kidney_

Lena: _hardy har_

Lena: _hmmm… lemme think…_

Y/N sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. It was nice to have someone else think for a change. She already felt better just talking to Lena.

_Blip_. Y/N opened her eyes.

Lena: _okay hear me out…_

____: _Oh God what_

Lena: _ever thought of being a sugar baby?_

Y/N: _What_

Lena: _you know, sugar mommy, sugar baby, mutually beneficial relationship_

Y/N: _No, I read that but like… Me?_

Lena: _if you’re uncomfortable with it of course not, but you’d be able to set the terms and i think you’d make a killing_

Y/N: _I appreciate the sentiment but… aren’t I a little… big for that?_

Lena: _i have no idea what you mean_

Y/N: _Aren’t sugar things for like, idk, thin, pretty people?_

Lena: _… you’re having me on_

Lena: _luv you’d be surprised with how many heads you turn during any given day_

Lena: _someone would definitely go after your sugar_

Y/N giggled at that. It felt ridiculous, but she sat and thought for a moment. She wasn’t bothered by selling her time and attention, or even necessarily giving physical favors in turn. She was no stranger to sex or to the gambit that was flirting. Her only true reserve was rejection based on her appearance. Being a larger woman had attracted assholes in the past, and over here in Switzerland where so many women were thin and willowy and blonde, how much more difficult would it be?

Y/N: _Do you think there are really that many gay women who’d be interested in a girl like me?_

Lena: _“like you”?_

Lena: _don’t be daft_

Lena: _without a doubt_

Y/N bit her lip and shrugged to herself.

Y/N: _What could it hurt to try?_


	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all her success, Moira realizes that she's lonely. The answer? To get a sugar baby, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I bullshit using stuff I learned in a psychological anthropology class at university.

Dr. Moira O’Deorain stalked the halls of the Overwatch laboratory suite with a confidence that didn’t quite reach her core. Something was off; she just couldn’t put her finger on it. As brilliant as she was, when it came to anything to do with her own emotions, she was lost. She felt an odd ache, lodged between her ribs where her heart was. Logically she knew that the aching feeling was a parasympathetic response from cranial nerve ten, the vagus nerve, as a result of some psychological disturbance or another. Knowing this logically didn’t lessen the feeling, and it certainly didn’t explain it.

Through Blackwatch - and by extension, Overwatch - her research was kept well-funded and hidden from the public eye, the U.N., and those who would steal or undermine her work. She was under no threat in that regard, at least for now, and even should any problem arise she had a contingency plan in place. The unease she felt was not about her research, and she had plenty of money, security, and respect. She had everything.

_What was it then?_

She would have muddled over it to the exclusion of all else had the answer not become apparent when she passed Dr. Ziegler - Angela, she had insisted Moira call her. Ana Amari’s daughter was all but glued to her side, clinging to every word, every gesture, every glance. It was subtle, but Moira’s hawkish gaze didn’t miss a single detail. It was the look in Fareeha’s eyes that did it, the longing and admiration and love with which she regarded Angela. That ache along cranial nerve ten intensified, and the hurt in Moira’s heart demanded to be felt. She thought of the gentle touches that Gabriel and Jack shared, of the playful banter between McCree and Shimada. That was what was missing.

_Damn it._

The last time Moira had attempted a serious relationship was during her doctoral work at Cambridge. It hadn’t lasted that long; she knew she wasn’t girlfriend, much less wife, material. She’d had more casual encounters since then, but even with those, the last had been years ago. Her research had become her life, and she was unwilling to let anything, anyone, get in the way. After the scientific community had shunned her for her publications, she had retreated further into the one solace and strength she had always relied on: her mind.

Now, though, with this ache in her chest… What she wouldn’t give for someone to look, to touch, to talk to her like that. She would even take an act, would pay someone, so long as it was given freely.

Well, then. Moira O’Deorain was, if nothing else, a genius and a woman of action. She wasn’t one to sit and sigh while the pining consumed her. No, she would go out and get what - who - she wanted, as she always had and always would.

She pondered where to go, what to do. She couldn’t speak with her colleagues about this. McCree would be insufferable, Gabriel would dig too deep into her personal life, Shimada spoke to no one, and Angela would want to help. No, she’d do this on her own. The most efficacious route would be to engage in a “sugar mommy” relationship with a younger woman. Money was far from a problem, and she was a busy woman who didn’t have the time or patience for the traditional dating scene. And, after all, she had standards; she was going to find herself a refined, intelligent woman who could keep pace with her mind, who would nestle on her arm, smile up at her, warm her.

Moira was technically off the clock; she took her personal tablet and signed into the encrypted server she used. She didn’t do anything illegal here, per se, but she’d rather her colleagues not see her watching Inuyasha during the infrequent breaks she took… or see her joining a sugar site.

She entered a basic query into the browser and skimmed through the top resulted articles before settling on a promising site: Sugar On Top, an international mutually beneficial relationship finder. Registration was simple enough; she used the headshot for her clearance badge as a profile picture – no sense in fussing, and it was nice enough – and entered a simple bio:

_Genetic researcher devoted to science but searching for tasteful companionship. Age 40. Irish._  
_Willing to negotiate terms of relationship and payment._

Participants were known by their first names only, and she set her preferences to women between the ages of 20 and 25 within 30 kilometers of where she was in Zurich. She was almost surprised at the number of young women available given the parameters she entered.

Moira was almost bored as she scrolled though different profiles. Though attractive enough, many of these girls were hoping to get by on looks alone and lacked the particular personality and intellectual capacities for which she was searching. Moira wasn’t one to discriminate on body type or appearance; she was fully aware that she herself was intimidating at best. What mattered was the mind. Pleasure, both in company and in sex, could be achieved regardless of appearance.

She must have scrolled past two or three dozen profiles before one caught her eye: Y/N, her name was.

_A cunning linguist._  
_Graduate student at the University of Zurich. Looking for a sugar mommy who I can keep company in this new city and who can help me pay my way through my education. Eager to please, and open to new experiences._  
_“Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.”_  
_\- Marie Curie_

Moira’s interest was certainly piqued. She tapped on the profile preview to see more. The profile picture was a headshot, but the way the girl smiled was enough to speak for itself the way the endless full-body photos on other profiles could not. The circle next to her name was green, indicating that she was online, so Moira opened the chat function.

Her fingers hovered over the tablet’s keyboard, and she went still. She wasn’t accustomed to being unsure of what to do, what to say, and she had no idea how to initiate this particular exchange. She shook her head and just got to typing.

Moira: _Good afternoon. I am interested in your profile, and I would like to speak with you about beginning an arrangement._

A good enough introduction, straightforward and clear. She wasn’t certain how long she would have to wait for a response but was pleased when one came within seconds.

Y/N: _Good afternoon to you, too! I would love to talk with you and see what I can do for you._

Moira smiled to herself. There was plenty she could do for her.

* * *

  
Their discussion was fairly brief. Moira decided she’d prefer to meet before any contract was set in stone, and _____ had been very willing. Moira had suggested the Kunsthaus, which wasn’t far from the University for Y/N and provided the kind of class and atmosphere that she wanted for her first meeting.

The gallery was in the midst of a special exhibition of the Swiss painter Johann Heinrich Fuseli. Truth be told, the event was rather morbid and centered around his painting “The Nightmare,” on loan from the Detroit Institute of Arts. Moira briefly wondered if that was really the context in which she wanted to have a first meeting for this mutually beneficial relationship but quickly brushed the thought aside.

The curator gave a brief welcome and introduction to the event before inviting patrons and guests to partake in the selection of gourmet teas, coffee, and wines available in the lounge area. Moira made a mental note to have a cup of tea before returning to her laboratory for the night. With that, she lifted her chin, adjusted her tie, and strolled into the gallery.

Moira meandered through the room, nodding to the other guests who greeted her while looking for the girl from the site. There were a number older patrons, but there were just as many young people, presumably university students or children of the upper echelons of society. The few women that seemed of the correct demeanor to be who she was meeting (those who were able to stand about without looking insipid) cast her a startled look at her height, her shock of red hair, and her rather unusual heterochromia. The red eye was off-putting, but she had no patience for such biases. Her appearance shouldn’t matter so long as she had the wealth to put into this relationship and a service rendered in return.

This was obviously more of a social gathering than a genuine art show, and the others were more interested in speaking in hushed voices to each other than to truly appreciate the art. None of the whispering patrons were the girl she was searching for. She reminded herself to be patient; she hadn’t been here that long, after all.

There were surprisingly few people around the showcase piece. An elderly man and a woman were exchanging hushed remarks, and another young man stood to admire the painting with his hands folded behind his back. Moira walked closer to inspect “The Nightmare”; the elderly couple looked up with a shock and scurried off. The young man ignored her presence but gave a “hum” of appreciation for the painting before moving off to another. Moira was left alone with “The Nightmare,” with the swooning, sleeping woman and the incubus which sat upon her chest.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” a voice said to her side. “One interpretation is that Fuseli was embodying the manifestations of nightmares here.”

Moira turned to look for the voice. At her side stood a plump young woman – Moira guessed she was in her early twenties – in a black tea-length dress embroidered at the hem and neckline with white flowers. Even in heels, the she was considerably shorter than Moira. (Then again, most people were.) The girl’s eyes were fixed on the painting, head cocked in contemplation. She was the girl from the sugar site. Moira felt the corner of her mouth tip up in a smirk.

“Oh?” she invited, interest piqued.

The girl’s gaze kept forward. “Some speculate that the horse is meant to represent that sense of being watched in hypnagogic hallucinations during an episode of sleep paralysis. Maupassant called it the _hors-là_ , the ‘out there.’ The incubus sitting on the woman’s chest is a representation of feeling unable to move or breathe, perhaps of even being caught beneath the body of a sexual partner in a dream.” The girl looked up at Moira with a coy smile. “Some might even call it a demon of an erotic nightmare.”

Moira’s smirk grew, and she felt something warm begin to coil in her stomach.

 _Oh, yes_ , she thought. _You’ll do nicely._


	3. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk things over and come to an agreement. You realize that there's probably more to this woman than she thought she was getting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh it's been a while since an update. I work now, and my shifts are 12 hours long, so I'm exhausted at the end of the day. Buuuuut here's chapter 3. I'm still drawing this out to set up the relationship, establish where they are, etc. etc.

Y/N had her eyes on who had to have been Moira from the second she walked into the room. She was _so tall_. Y/N was taken aback by that and felt her heart squeeze in her chest. The woman was wearing a black suit that cut along the sharp lines of her body. At her neck was a black tie over a wine-colored shirt. Y/N wouldn’t have thought that that much black would work with hair that color (she wanted to _touch it_ ), but damn… She really did make it work.

A thought pushed its way into Y/N’s head, of being under this woman and _pulling_ at her tie while being absolutely ravaged… She mentally beat that thought back. _You need to be professional right now, dumbass. Stop thinking with your monkey brain. But…_ _Jesus Christ, that is a beautiful woman. God bless, I’m so gay._

Moira seemed to be subtly searching the room for her, but given the number of people there she seemed to be having little luck. When she went to the showcase piece, Y/N followed and walked up beside her.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” She wasn’t sure what spirit of confidence that possessed her to speak, but she did. She felt her mouth running and was semi-conscious of what was coming out of it, but she felt as though she was on autopilot more than anything. “… Some might even call it a demon of an _erotic_ nightmare.” _Oh, my God, why did I say it like that? Ugh, please let her think I’m not just pulling this out of my ass._

The woman at her side seemed pleased enough, given the smirk that curled on her lips. Y/N wasn’t going to lie, the smirk was making her feel warm.

“What an interesting hypothesis. One that I would love to hear more of.” There was a lilt in her smoky voice that Y/N remembered was Irish. This just got better and better. The woman extended her right hand, gloved though it was. “Moira.”

Y/N took her hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N... A lovely name, as is befitting someone as…” Moira gave Y/N a slow up-and-down look, bowing slightly to bring her hand to her cool lips, “lovely as yourself,” she finished, voice dipping low.

Y/N shivered and curled her toes in her heels.  “Oh?” Her voice was breathy. “That sounds like high praise coming from a woman such as yourself.”

Moira chuckled under her breath as she released Y/N’s hand. “A woman such as myself… And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know, tall, poised, handsome. Looks like she knows everything and like she knows she’s powerful enough to have any woman in the room.” She bit her lip as she looked up from beneath her lashes. Y/N could be coaxing when she put her mind to it, and by the way Moira’s eyes darkened and her smirk widened, she knew she was succeeding.

 “High praise indeed.” Moira extended a crooked arm. “Walk with me.”

Y/N smiled and took her arm. “Of course.”

Y/N hoped that Moira couldn’t feel her heart pounding in her chest. This was going well so far. She was going to have a sugar mommy by the end of the night, so her finances would be solved, and this woman was incredibly _nice_ to look at, to put it mildly. To have struck so luckily on her first try with the sugar site… It was rather thrilling. They’d not even begun negotiating, but Y/N felt – she _knew_ – this arrangement was going to be something special.

“Do you make a habit of coming to places like this alone?” Moira’s voice brought Y/N out of her head as they walked slowly to another painting, “The Night-Hag visiting Lapland Witches.”

“Hmm,” Y/N hummed, “I do like going to museums alone, but I’m not averse to having company. Though, that’s difficult when you come overseas to a city where you don’t know anyone.”

“Overseas? You might have fooled me. Your German is excellent. I would have mistaken you for being Swiss.”

“Nope!” Y/N popped the “p” and grinned up at Moira. She continued in English. “I’m from the States. I finished my undergraduate work there, and am now studying for my, well, _eventual_ doctorate here.”

“Indeed? Then not only are you beautiful, but you have wit to match.”

Y/N squeezed Moira’s arm. “I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.”

“Only the ones worth my while, I assure you, and they are few and far in between.”

“Then I must _truly_ be something special to get your attention.” Y/N looked up at Moira, eyes crinkled at the edges. “And I’d love to keep it.”

“I think we can come to an agreement on that front, sweet thing.”

Oh, Y/N liked how that sounded, _sweet thing_. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “There’s plenty of time for that. Why don’t we enjoy the time we have now?”

“Let’s.”

They paused in front of “The Shepard’s Dream.” Moira was quiet for a moment as she looked over the painting. Y/N took the moment to further admire the sharp cut of her jaw and cheekbones, the point of her nose, the faint creases at the corner of her eyes and mouth. She wanted to reach up and run her hand through that red hair, just to see what it felt like, but she restrained herself.

Moira glanced down and saw her staring. She raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter?”

“No! I just… You’re so beautiful and I, uh-” Y/N scrambled for words. _No, brain, do not gay out on me now! I need you!_ “I was admiring the view.”

Moira blinked – she almost looked taken off guard – before laughing. The sound was quiet, but deep and smoky, and Y/N loved it. “That’s not something I’ve heard many call me. I’d think you were only trying to flatter me if not for the look on your face. I’m not beautiful by any measure, but I’ll take your compliment as it was intended.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the woman to her side cut her off.

“Tell me, have you eaten yet?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. I was too excited to eat earlier.”

“Then we’re going out. I’m a mite peckish myself, and I have to show my _baby_ the kind of treatment I can offer her.”

 

Moira drove a beautiful and well-kept restored classic Audi that was probably worth more than anything Y/N owned combined. The drive to the restaurant was short, but she didn’t seem to want to bother with small talk; Y/N thought it just as well. She could swoon over a sharp jawline in silence while appreciating the city at night in silence.

They pulled in front of the restaurant, and Moira handed the keys to the valet as she stepped out with a pointed look. Before Y/N could open her door, Moira had swept around to open it and offer her arm. Y/N scrambled up as gracefully as she could and latched onto her arm, leaning into the tall woman beside her. So, chivalry wasn’t dead, even in the 2060s.

Y/N was used to keeping to herself in public and to trying to garner as little attention as possible, but she saw that that would be nigh on impossible with a two-meter tall, red-headed woman like Moira at her side. She commanded a presence, that was certain. The maître d’ seemed to know who she was and rushed to seat them off to the side and away from the other patrons. At the table, Moira didn’t hesitate before ordering a bottle of wine. Y/N didn’t recognize the name – university hadn’t educated her in tasteful drinking, just clear liquors and linguistics – but smiled at the maître d’ as he nodded and scurried away.

“Now that we have some privacy,” Moira began, steepling her fingers, “let us talk business. I’m a very busy woman, but I’m not too proud to admit that I have… needs that cannot be fulfilled by my work. My intention with you is to provide generously and to gain your time, attention, and, shall we say, _affections_ , in return. Are you amenable to this?”

Y/N paused before speaking and was given a moment to think of her response by a waiter coming to the table with the bottle Moira had ordered. He showed her the label and Moira nodded in assent before he popped the cork and carefully poured the red into two glasses. She lifted the glass in her hand and swirled the wine before taking a measured sip. Again, she nodded and waved the waiter away. The bottle was left on the table.

Y/N felt the cool wineglass beneath her fingers and also took a sip before speaking. _Not bad. I guess the quality of the wine really does make a difference._ “That all sounds fine to me. But…”

“But?”

She kept her eyes on her wine. How to phrase this? Y/N didn’t want to launch into a sexual relationship right off the bat. She wasn’t selling sex. She was selling her time. How far did “affections” go? That was a simple enough question to ask.

“I’d like to spend time with you before, ah, having sex. I’m selling sugar, not salt, after all.” Y/N looked up at Moira, gauging her reaction.

The other woman cocked an eyebrow slightly and exhaled a chuckle. “Certainly. I judged you as one who wouldn’t leap so hastily into… casual intimacy. We will go at your pace as far as physical favors go. I trust you wouldn’t be opposed to being on my arm, though? Anything clothed?”

Y/N felt heat rise to her face. “I- um… Yeah, anything clothed.” But _Jesus_ was this woman testing her resolve. “I’m not writing anything like _that_ off,” she hastened to add. “Just… not quite yet.”

Moira smirked. “In due time, perhaps then. As I said, at your pace.” Another sip of wine. “There remains but a few other formalities to be taken care of. First, that of payment. I assume direct deposit is acceptable?”

“Yeah, I can give you my banking information. I trust you not to do anything untoward with my finances.” It felt odd to be so businesslike about this. Y/N hadn’t exactly thought in depth about how the money would be handled, other than the fact that she would _have_ money to pay bills.

“Trust well-placed, I assure you. We’ll exchange contact information. Next, know that my work is the most important thing in my life and that I will be with you as I need you. I anticipate your studies being of high importance to you as well, so there should be little problem in the way of clinging. I will give you the address to my flat. I spent very little time there, but you’re welcome to it anytime.”

“Sounds good.”

Moira took another sip of wine before she leveled her gaze. The flirtatious gleam vanished from her eyes. “Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I ask that you not pry into my professional life and personal affairs. What is my business, is mine.”

Y/N felt exposed by the weight and darkness of Moira’s gaze, and in the back of her mind, a warning klaxon sounded. _Danger,_ it said. _This woman is dangerous_. She wasn’t frightened, not really. The shiver that swept up her spine to her shoulders most _certainly_ wasn’t one of fear. She suppressed it and nodded instead.

Moira must have seen the minute shudder of Y/N’s shoulders anyway because the corner of her mouth turned up. Her eyes swept over Y/N, and the darkness of danger in her eyes faded to a darkness of another sort that left Y/N practically squirming in her chair. Again, the unbidden thoughts of being beneath this woman wormed into her mind, and heat pooled in her center. Y/N hastily picked up her wine glass and took a long draught.

Dangerous or no, she knew she was going to get far more out of this arrangement than rent.

And that excited her.


	4. What's In A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena wants to know about your sugar mommy.
> 
> McCree wants to know if Moira does anything but plot in her lab all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a few things:
> 
> 1\. This chapter is kind of a bridge between chapters. I also just kind of wanted to write some Blackwatch McCree because he's sassy. Also, I love McGenji as a ship so that made its way here. Oh well.
> 
> 2\. If people don't still say "fucking superb, you funky little lesbian" in the 2060s, then we will have truly failed as a species. Also, Blackwatch is hella gay. Their sexualities are just how I personally headcanon them, so live and let live.
> 
> 3\. I like to think of McCree as being something of a minor nuisance to Moira. Not necessarily in a bad way, but the way you'd deal with a younger sibling or a kid who follows you around and won't stop talking. But who happens to be around 28 years old and dresses like a cowboy. So, yeah. Moira responds the only way she knows how: snark and sarcasm.

Moira’s money was as good as her word, that was for certain. After the necessary information had been exchanged, Y/N saw a number easily _triple_ what she needed for rent pop up in her banking account. She’d choked on the water she’d been drinking and had to lay down on her bed for a moment to absorb it all. She still hadn’t really, that she was actually going to stay in Zurich and was pursuing her dream with adequate funding from someone who thought she was attractive enough to just fork over money with so little in return.

Their first meeting had been a week ago, and other than the direct deposit, there had been virtually no communication from Moira. When the deposit had gone through, she’d gotten a message saying, “What you need and some extra. Treat yourself,” but nothing other than that. She’d considered sending her a message, something short and sweet, but Y/N figured she’d wait until for Moira to initiate their next meeting and any other correspondences. For the time being, she was satisfied and could wait.

While she waited, she found herself day-dreaming about Moira when she wasn’t monitoring all of her thoughts. They were, for the most part, fairly innocent, just imagining what she would look like in her lab as she worked, wondering how she took her tea and if she was a dog or a cat person. Occasionally, though, she’d drift into a fantasy where Moira would take her in the back seat of her car, in her lab, in what Y/N imagined her flat looked like. She imagined that Moira would be as dominating in bed as she was in person, wondered how she’d take her. Would Moira grind Y/N to completion on her thigh? Tease her with her fingers or her tongue? Fuck her into the mattress with a strap-on?

Each idea was as enticing as the last. Y/N would struggle to choose, should the opportunity arise, but she shouldn’t get too ahead of herself when she was only a week in.

For now, though, the only real struggles would be keeping the nature of her financial security from her family at home and Moira’s identity from those who did know. Easy enough, right?

Right, especially considering that she knew next to nothing about her sugar mommy and really didn’t have much of an identity to reveal other than a name, but Y/N wasn’t so careless. She’d not kiss and tell, so to speak, despite any particularly… desperate attempts to force the truth.

“Y/N, c’mon, you can tell me who she is! At least drop me a hint!” Lena begged, practically hanging on Y/N’s arm. They were walking back to her apartment after stopping by a market.

“You’re funny to think that asking that for a _twentieth_ time will actually make me tell you.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I’ll take you out to that gelato shop you really love!”

“Mmm, nope.”

“I’ll clean your apartment every week for a month _and_ do your laundry!”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Oh, _come on_. At least tell me what she’s like?”

They had reached Y/N’s door and she dug in her bag for her keys. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N regarded her friend. She didn’t trust Lena not to be nosy enough to use whatever resources available to her to discover her sugar mommy’s identity based off of a few choice pieces of information. However, if primary identifiers were avoided, what harm could just a few tidbits be?

“Well…” Y/N drawled as she unlocked the door. “She’s _tall_. So, so tall.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled. “Oh?” She was bouncing on her heels.

“And she’s my every butch lesbian fantasy fulfilled.” _And then some_ , she thought as she opened the door.

Lena perched on the chair in the kitchen nook while Y/N busied herself with putting away the produce she’d purchased.

“She’s graceful, she’s poised, and she’s incredibly intelligent.” Y/N smiled to herself.

“But what’s her _name_?”

Y/N shook her head and mimed zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the key.

Lena sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. Have your secrets.”

“Gladly.”

Lena stuck out her tongue and grinned. She watched Y/N put the kettle on for tea and reach for two mugs. Her leg was bouncing. “Still, Y/N. Fit, smart, _and_ rich? She sounds like the whole package.”

“You’re telling me. And being with her means I can stay here and afford rent and continue my studies… I can’t believe my luck with this.” Y/N turned towards her friend and leaned back against the counter. “I ought to be thanking you for suggesting this in the first place. Fucking superb, you funky little lesbian.”

Lena snorted into a fit of giggles. Her laughter was always contagious, and Y/N found herself laughing as well.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Lena said when the giggles had run their course. “If it means you get to stay here, that’s all I care about. Just have to keep me updated on how this all goes, yeah? I want to hear the details.” She winked. “Also, a home cooked meal every now and then wouldn’t hurt. Overwatch is great and all, but cafeteria food is still cafeteria food.”

“Sounds like a deal. Now, about taking me out for gelato…”

 

* * *

 

“Amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this… well, chipper ain’t a word I’d ever use for you.”

Moira looked up from the screen where she was mulling over data. McCree had wandered into her office, having escaped Reyes for the time being and likely bored to the point of annoyance. It wasn’t often that he sought her out as a conversational partner (he usually pestered Shimada for that), but when he did it was because he liked sticking his nose in her business and disrupting her day.

She looked back down at the tablet. “I’m certain I have no idea what you’re on about. I’m always this exuberant.”

“Oh, that what we’re callin’ it now?” He leaned against the wall and thumbed his – frankly, ridiculous – hat further up on his head to peer at her. “’Exuberant’ is a little extreme. I’m more inclined to say ‘less surly.’”

“And _I’m_ more inclined to show you how ‘surly’ I can become with cowboys who waste my time.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, doc?” McCree flashed a grin at the unimpressed raise of a brow Moira gave.

She sighed. “Can I help you with something, Jesse?”

“Just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop and chat.”

“If you wanted to chat, you should have gone to Angela. She’s always willing to tolerate your antics.”

“Can’t. She’s with Genji right now, and I wouldn’t want to get in her way. At least, not today. Genji looked fit to be tied. I guess having an arm short out’ll do that to you; cybernetics and all.” McCree wiggled the fingers of his right hand. Even with his casual attitude about it, he seemed genuinely bothered by Shimada’s being indisposed.

“I thought that you would be the best to placate him, given your involvement.”

He had the sense to look almost indignant. “Just because we’re, uh, _involved_ doesn’t mean I can help him when he’s down an arm.” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “I could ask you the same, really.”

“What, if I’m involved with Agent Shimada? Hardly.”

“What? No!” Fleeting disgust and horror crossed McCree’s face, as if the thought repulsed him entirely. (It absolutely did.) “I meant, you look less evil stepmother lately and more… I can’t call you fairy godmother because you’re still too scary for that, but more vodka aunt, I guess it’d be.”

There were worse things that he could have compared her to, she supposed. “Do you have a point?”

“Yeah, that something, or _someone_ , had to’ve put you in such a good mood.” He waggled an eyebrow. “So, who is she?”

“You’re making the grand assumption that I’m attracted to women.” She was, but the assumption of sexuality was never polite.

“Well,” McCree shrugged. “Chief is gay, I’m bi, Genji’s pan… We run in packs. Figured all we needed was a lesbian to complete our merry band of misfits.”

“Your logic is infallible,” Moira deadpanned. “Regardless, my personal affairs are hardly your concern.”

“That’s not a yes or a no, and it’s certainly not a name.”

She set her tablet down and looked him in the eye. He didn’t shy away. Of course he didn’t.

McCree spread his hands in front of him. “I’m just trying to bond with you some. Team-building and all that. What’s the harm in it? You know that Genji and I have somethin’ going-”

“Because you hardly make it a secret.”

“-so I’m just curious if our resident mad scientist does anything beside plot nefarious schemes in her lair all day and night.”

Moira sighed. “I do have interests outside of my research.” She massaged her temple with two fingers. “What will it take for you to leave me be?”

McCree pursed his lips as if in thought. (What a novelty that would be.) “Knowing what kinda lady you’re interested in would do it. You know, just so I can keep an eye out for you.” He winked.

“If that what it takes.” Moira leaned back in her seat in consideration. The kind of woman she was interested in… Immediately Y/N came to mind. “Someone intelligent, who can keep up with me. Hard-working and mature, but still has a witty sense of humor. Poised, a sense of culture…”

 _Someone soft_ , her mind whispered. _Someone who can take your sharp edges and hold them. Someone who will bend before you and yet not break, who can submit fully and let you give them the world without asking. Someone like_ her.

She hadn’t realized that she’d uncharacteristically drifted off. McCree raised an eyebrow.

“Well, now, that sounded awful specific for someone who doesn’t want to admit she’s seeing someone.”

“Or I’m sure of what I want,” Moira challenged, feeling defensive.

“Or that.” McCree waved a hand. “Alright, I’m satisfied. I’ll quit buggin’ you now. I’m sure Reyes is wondering where I’ve run off too and will come looking. If I stay here, he’ll get me. Catch you later, Doc.”

He strolled out of the room, spurs jingling at his heels. Moira was left with her thoughts.

Yes, she was quite sure of what she wanted, and what she wanted was Y/N. 

She opened her messenger and began typing.


	5. Dressed to Impress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, Lena helps you shop for a dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh this feels wordy and unnecessary but I couldn't really get around posting the next chapter without this one. I felt like I needed to write it. Ugh. Writing is hard. FML. 
> 
> Also, this is the dress I'm trying to describe lmao  
> https://www.dhgate.com/product/2012-sexy-new-strapless-sweetheart-beaded/134559999.html

Y/N was at the library hunting for a tome on indigenous Amazonian parent-child linguistic practices (sure, it was 2068 and a lot of material was digitalized, but the books were just better) when her phone vibrated in her cardigan’s pocket. Y/N balanced the three volumes she was holding on the stool next to her and fished it out, tapping on the screen to wake it up. She had a new message – and it was from Moira. She had been waiting for her to message and her patience had finally paid off. She thumbed the screen to open the message.

Moira: _It would please me to see you again. I will be by your flat at 1900 on Saturday to retrieve you. You will notice that I have deposited another sum for you. Use these funds to purchase formal attire. Dress me with me in mind, sweet thing._

Though it wasn’t flowery prose, Y/N felt a giddy feeling rise in her throat as her heart picked up the pace and a grin spread across her face. Moira’s messages were always Hemingway-esque in their clipped tone, bordering on authoritarian, but something about their demanding nature excited Y/N, made her want to obey and be submissive and please Moira’s every whim. God, was she whipped already.

She typed out a response:

Y/N: _Can do. I trust you have something planned for the evening, and I can’t wait._

She debated tagging an emoji at the end of the message but figured that Moira would consider that too frivolous, and just hit “send” instead. Not anticipating a response, she backtracked to her messages with Lena.

Y/N: _Do you know anywhere I could get like, really fancy dresses?_

The reply was quick.

Lena: _uhhh no but i can ask around. dr. ziegler always looks good at official functions so she probably knows_

Y/N: _Oh my god you’re asking fashion advice from Dr. Ziegler herself I’m dead_

She went back to her search for linguistic literature. She didn’t anticipate a response from Lena soon, but ten minutes later she had the books she was looking for and a reply.

Lena: _doc says to try this boutique dellucci. super high-end, should be what you’re looking for and they’re pretty size-inclusive_

Y/N: _Please tell me you didn’t interrupt any of her very important work for this_

Lena: _nah she was on break lol_

Y/N: _Oh thank god_

Y/N: _So what are you doing tonight?_

Lena: _nothin why?_

Y/N: _Wanna help me dress for my sugar mommy!_

Lena: _OF FUCKING COURSE I DO_

Six hours later, Lena was at Y/N’s door and tugging her toward the tram to get to the city’s fashion district. Y/N had never had any occasion to immerse herself in Zurich’s fashion culture – or really any, for that matter – and Lena always went for her dress blues when occasion called for formality, so to say that they felt out of place in the pristine boutique was an understatement. When they walked in, the woman at the counter had looked them up and down, eyes settling first on Lena’s windswept hair and well-worn bomber jacket, then on Y/N’s jeans and oversized sweater.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked in nasally German. Her nametag said “Marie.” Her mouth was thin and pressed in a straight line, and there were lines between her eyebrows that suggested a lifetime of frowning.

“Ah, yes,” Y/N replied nervously. “I need a dress, and I hear that you come highly recommended for formal occasions.”

“Indeed. Well, I’m sure we can find something for you. Follow me.” She turned and walked toward the back of the shop.

Lena smiled encouragingly and nudged Y/N’s hip with her own to move her forward. They followed Marie to a room with a wall of mirrors and a chandelier hanging over a round, black chaise in the center of the room. Marie motioned for them to sit.

“What are you looking for, exactly?”

“I’m… I’m not exactly sure.” Y/N felt incredibly awkward. “I’m dressing for an evening with my, uh, significant other-”

Lena snorted next to her. Y/N ignored her.

“-and I’d like it to be floor-length and in a dark color… Something like plum or a wine-red or… something like that, please,” she finished weakly.

Marie, to her credit, said nothing but held up a finger as if to say, “just a moment,” and disappeared behind a curtain. Y/N turned to Lena.

“I’m so bad at this.”

Lena grinned and patter her shoulder reassuringly. “Nah, love, you’re doing fine. All that matters is that your money’s good and that we find you something to really wow this mystery woman of yours.”

Y/N shrugged and fought to not bounce her leg as Marie came back out with four dresses and motioned her towards a dressing room.

“Ask me if you need assistance,” she said before closing the door behind her.

Y/N looked at the dressed hanging on the wall. Two were form-fitting mermaid cuts, which she immediately ruled out. (Sure, they were pretty, but getting in and out of those, walking around for hours with chafing thighs… not her ideal night.) One was a black high-low dress accented with a high choker neckline. She tried that one first but didn’t know if showing her knees counted as formal. The last one… the last one was gorgeous.

It was off the shoulders with a sweetheart neckline that plunged enough to toe the line between propriety and seduction. It was form-fitting to the waist, where it filled out into a full circle skirt in a light, satiny material that shimmered in the light halfway between the color of blackberry wine and the deepest red of sunset.

Y/N stepped out of the dressing room, careful of the hem of the dress and stood on the platform in front of the wall of mirrors.

“Well,” she said breathily. “What do you think?”

Lena’s mouth dropped open before her face broke into a sunny smile. “Y/N, you look _incredible_. Give us a twirl!”

Y/N giggled and spun in a circle, enjoying the feeling of the skirt rustling around her legs. She stopped to face herself in the mirror. The woman reflected back at her _was_ beautiful, and her eyes sparkled with gentle confidence. She could see Marie in the mirror, and she had a tilt to her severe mouth that bespoke approval.

“This one,” Y/N said. “I’ll take this one.”

Marie nodded and pulled a measuring tape from her skirt pocket to determine where and how many alterations would be made. She was an efficient worker, Y/N had to admit, if a bit rough in her handling and cold in her mannerisms, and she had what she needed in very little time at all. Y/N paid for the dress, alterations, and service and tried to avoid looking at the price on the receipt she was given to sign. She saw it anyway and almost felt sick until she remembered the sum that Moira had given her, and that what she had paid was _well_ below that number. Actually having money was going to take some getting used to, it seemed.

After saying “thank you” and ducking out of the boutique, Lena and Y/N left the shop and went back to the tram station. It was September, but the night was closing in and with it came a brisk breeze that had Y/N almost wishing she’d brought a jacket.

“Come on, Y/N,” Lena said, zipping up her own bomber jacket. “You were so busy all last week. Let’s go out for a bite, yeah? And I still have to make good on my promise to take you for gelato.”

That did sound good. She had been up to her nose in books and journals and drafts since last Wednesday, and she had worked through the weekend as well.

“Sure,” Y/N said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

“Italian?”

“Yeah, that’ll work.”

Lena ran a quick search on her phone for places near them and directed her friend onto the tram. It was apparently a family-owned establishment, run by a nice couple who had come from Napoli a decade back. It was quiet, after most of the dinner rush, and the owner seated them at a table before taking their orders and scurrying off to the kitchen to join her wife in preparing the meals.

“So,” Lena drawled, “what’s your mystery woman got planned that you need such a nice dress for?”

Y/N took a sip of her water. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’m kind of just letting her call the shots with all of this. She could ask me to wear a clown costume and I’d do it, so long as she’s funding it.”

“I’d want to see that, red nose and all.” Lena mimed honking a clown’s nose. “You’d make a cute clown.”

“I absolutely would _not_.”

Lena threw a wadded-up straw wrapper at Y/N. “Would too. Especially if you’re getting paid for it.” Under the table, her leg bounced, a habit of hers. “Does she know what she’s paying to see? Because you looked amazing.”

“No, she doesn’t. I figured I’d let it be a surprise.”

“You should send her a little teaser, get her excited,” Lena suggested. Mirth danced in her eyes.

“I’m not sending nudes, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’re ridiculous. I meant, just shoot her a message that says, ‘Your money is well-spent,’ or something like that.”

Y/N raised a brow.

Lena shrugged. “Look, I don’t know how you talk to your sugar momma! Just say enough to get her curious and build up some anticipation towards seeing you, y’know?”

Y/N considered this before getting her phone out of her purse and hovering her thumb over the messenger icon for a brief second. She tapped it and opened her conversation with Moira.

“I think you’ll really like what I chose,” she read aloud as she typed.

“Eh, you can do better than that.”

She deleted that message and chewed her bottom lip in thought. “I can’t wait to go out in what I picked out, just for you. I’d show you, but it’s a surprise.” It sounded like more of a question when she said it.

Lena deliberated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah and add a winking face after that.”

She did and hit _send_ before she could delete what she had written. “It might take her a bit to respond. She’s busy.”

“I’m patient,” Lena said. She perked up and sat straight as she looked over Y/N’s shoulder. “We have food coming while we wait, at least! I’m starving.”

The woman who had taken their orders set their plates in front of them with a warm smile, telling them to simply call if they needed anything. Y/N and Lena tucked in and kept up conversation, but it wasn’t long before Y/N’s phone buzzed and made her jump.

“Oh?” Lena posed with a lilt in her voice.

Y/N opened the message.

Moira: _I wait with baited breath to see what you have chosen for me. I trust you not to disappoint._

She read it aloud for her friend, who raised a brow.

“It almost sounds like you’re in over your head with this one, Y/N. She might eat you alive.”

“Mmm,” Y/N grinned, putting down her phone. “Promises, promises.”


	6. Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go out with Moira. Of course she picks the fanciest things possible. God, this woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter and the one prior together. I could have made them one chapter, but then it would have been at 5k words and I prefer keeping them a little shorter, even if this one is a monster. Felt like it when I was writing it, at least. 
> 
> Tbh, at this point I'm just writing dates that I wish I could be taken on, sugar momma or no. 
> 
> Also, thank you for all of your comments and feedback. They all mean more to me than you know, and it keeps me inspired to write when I'm down.

The rest of the week passed slowly for Y/N. It was Thursday before the final alterations to the dress were completed, and she fell asleep that night and the next looking at it hanging in her room. She got as much work done as she could between when she woke up at nine o’clock on Saturday and two in the afternoon. She had a proposal due on Wednesday, but it was nearly completed and writing always was her strong suit, so she saved her work, turned up some music, and gave herself two hours to relax before getting ready.

Even though she could have paid to have someone do her hair and makeup, she liked the routine of doing it herself after showering. It occupied her hands and mind and kept the nervous energy and excitement from overtaking her. Time felt as though it was her enemy, and she compulsively glanced at the clock. Getting her hair to perfection took a bit longer than she had anticipated, till 18:12. At 18:15 she was brushing her teeth, and at 18:20 she was just starting her makeup. When she next looked at the time it was 18:47, and her heart leapt in her throat.

She threw down her (closed) mascara and practically jumped across the room to take down her dress. She squeezed into her tights – oof – and slid the dress on over her head, zipping up the side. She shoved her shoes onto her feet and turned to look in the mirror she’d purchased at a second-hand store. Even in the old glass, which made everything slightly distorted and faerie-like, she looked and felt beautiful. Moira was sure to approve.

Y/N looked at the clock again. 18:57. On the table, her phone buzzed; she dove to pick it up.

_1 new message. Swipe to view._

She did.

Moira: _I am outside._

Any calm Y/N had tricked herself into thinking she had fled. Still, she opened the door, gave one last glance about her flat, locked it, and stepped out. Her feet carried her to the street where the black Audi was idling. She heard the lock _click-click_ and the door opened as Moira leaned across to push it.

Y/N felt suddenly shy as she lowered herself into the car, careful of the skirt of her dress. She felt Moira’s eyes on her, and only turned her head to look at her once the door was closed and the seatbelt was buckled. She wasn’t prepared for the heat or intensity of Moira’s gaze. It was as if she was staring down a ravenous wolf, ready to pounce, and were she to look away first, she would be consumed, body and soul.

Moira’s voice was as deep and smoky as Y/N remembered. “I never doubted your taste for an instant, but this,” she purred, breaking eye contact to trail her gaze down Y/N’s neck, to her bare shoulders and to the plunge of her cleavage, “this is all I expected and more… A true _treat._ ”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “And… just what were you expecting?”

Moira’s eyes slid back up to meet hers, and she just gave a smirk and a throaty _hmm_ before shifting into drive and taking off down the street. With the silence and Moira’s attention otherwise occupied, Y/N dared to look at her companion. She was wearing an all-black, Italian-cut suit with a thin black tie, much like what she had worn to the art gallery but over a white shirt, and, Lord have _mercy,_ black leather gloves that creaked against the steering wheel.

_That’s just not even fair, looking like that,_ Y/N thought. Well, at least she was dressed for the occasion… Whatever the occasion was.

“What do you have planned for us this evening?” she asked.

Moira looked askance at her, then back at the road. “The Tonhalle Orchester commences their season tonight with a concert featuring Smetana’s ‘Ma Vlast,’ followed by a gala ball. While I’m loath to socialize, I would enjoy the excuse to dance, particularly when my partner is so enticing.”

Y/N felt heat rush to her face. “I’ve never really danced, but for you, I’d most certainly try.”

Moira chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

The concert was set to take place at the opera house, a grand building that rivaled others of its caliber. Even in the fading light, the statues that loomed on the roof, standing sentinel over this seat of music in the city, were in dark relief against the sky. After opening the door and helping Y/N up, Moira handed her keys and car to the valet waiting nearby.

Moira offered her arm, which Y/N gladly took, pressing closer to the woman beside her. She guided them into the building and waved two tickets at the attendant overseeing the queue. The attendant nodded, not even bothering to check, and Moira continued through to a flight of stairs. They separated to ascend, and Y/N immediately missed Moira’s solid warmth beside her. She lifted her skirt to avoid tripping up the stairs or tearing her skirt, but also because it made her feel like Cinderella climbing the stairs to the ball. Hey, she was an adult and it was 2068, but Disney films and feeling like a princess never went out of style. And honestly, with Moira, a queen by her manner and presence, she did feel like a princess.

At the top of the stairs, Moira pulled her close once more; Y/N didn’t resist. Her skirt swayed and whispered against her feet and legs as she walked. There was something vaguely _Phantom of the Opera_ -like about this, the setting and the bearing of the woman beside her. Moira led her down a red-carpeted corridor to the right. They passed the second level seating, then a series of doors to private boxes before coming upon their own, box four. (Ah, so close to box five to complete the _Phantom_ aesthetic.)

Moira opened the door and held it open for Y/N to pass, then pulled aside the curtain that partitioned the entrance from the seating. As they moved to sit, Moira extended her hand to help ease Y/N down before seating herself as well. She didn’t release her hand, though; like she had at the art gallery, she raised it to her lips and grinned into it as she pressed a kiss.

“You look as though you belong on my arm,” Moira murmured. “I have no doubt in my mind that the other patrons can see it as well, how lovely you are in this dress and how entirely it seems you belong to and with me. And I have you to _myself_ here tonight.”

Y/N felt heat rush to her core and her throat tighten as she searched desperately for a reply to that. That subtle display of possessiveness and domination sparked the flickering flame of arousal within her, and again her resolve was tested. She tempered the buzzing in her veins with logic and reason. Sure, they had some degree of privacy being in a box instead of general seating, but this was still incredibly public. Y/N had also drawn a line in the sand that she said she was, at least for the time being, not going to cross. The wave of attraction and Moira’s powerful aura slowly lapped away at that line, though, pulling it and her resolution out with the tide.

She was saved from responding by the concertmaster walking on stage to the audience’s applause. She bowed, then gave the oboist a nod, signaling to give the “A” for the symphony to tune, section by section. Moira had a knowing look in her eye that said she _knew_ exactly what she did to Y/N and was infuriatingly proud about it. Smug bastard.

The orchestra stood as the conductor walked onto the stage to more applause. He motioned for the musicians to be seated and welcomed the audience in warm, accented German. He bowed, raised his baton, and cued the symphony to play.

The music began with a gentle harp that was joined by a chorus of woodwinds soon after. Y/N closed her eyes and gave herself to the music, to the swell of violins and power of horns. She didn’t see Moira watching her intently at her side, fixated on how she breathed with the music and kept beat with gentle swaying of her head and a tapping finger. Had Y/N looked up she would have met hungry eyes that raked over her body, taking in places to be kissed and bitten. But she didn’t, and she missed how Moira clenched her hands to stop from reaching out and simply taking.

The concert was over within an hour and a half and was met with uproarious applause and a standing ovation, as was befitting the performance. Y/N looked up and smiled wide at Moira as she clapped.

“That was beautiful,” she said over the noise of the crowd. “Thank you for showing this to me. I loved every second.”

Moira had a small smile on her face as she regarded Y/N. “The pleasure is all mine,” she replied. She seemed genuinely pleased with herself, taking gratification in her companion’s delight. “Our night is not finished, however. We’ve yet to dance.” She extended her hand, which Y/N gladly took.

“Lead the way.”

The ballroom itself was a more recent addition to the building, having been constructed in the mid-2020s, but was nevertheless in the same classic and grandiose style of architecture. A string quartet consisting of the section leaders from each string section had already set up and had started to play a lively gavotte. Some of the other patrons lined the walls, content to drink and speak with their companions, but just as many had taken up residence on the ballroom floor, moving through the steps of a dance that looked as though it belonged in regency-era England instead of twenty-first century Zurich.

Y/N was in awe. Though the arts had opened up in recent years to the less affluent, this event was obviously for the _crème de la crème._ She thought she saw a Federal Councilwoman dancing by with her wife. She felt out of place amongst such opulence and looked nervously between Moira and the other patrons.

Moira appeared not to read her disquiet and led her to an unoccupied marble pillar. As a server passed by with glasses of champagne on a silver platter (there was no doubt it was actual silver, not just plating), she grabbed two flutes and presented one to Y/N.

“We will wait for a slower number,” Moira said. “This gavotte is much too involved for my tastes.” She took a sip of the champagne and hummed in approval. “In the meantime, let us talk.”

Y/N smiled, grateful for the time to adjust. She, too, took a sip of her champagne. “What would you like to talk about?”

Moira’s eyes trailed across her face again, and she reached out a finger to stroke along her jaw from ear to chin. “Hmm… Tell me about how you find the city.”

Y/N fought to not lean into her touch. “How I find the city? Let’s see… First, it’s gorgeous. It feels like no matter where I am, I can see the mountains in the distance. The river isn’t so far from my flat, so I have plenty of chances to take walks along it, especially in the evening. Right as the sun starts to set, it’s so peaceful, and I can take a moment to breathe.

“I spend most of my time at the University, though. I’ve met so many great people there; my mentors are wonderful, and I’ve gotten to reconnect with a childhood friend. Even though I came here alone, it’s hard to ever feel lonely, especially…” She trailed off.

“Especially…?” Moira prompted.

Y/N bit her lip. “… Especially knowing that you’re here. Even not having known you that long, it’s a comfort to know someone in the city outside of my academic world.” She looked away. “It’s a little silly, I know, but spending time with you is fun for me. This is only our second time together, but it always feels like an experience.”

Moira lifted her chin with a finger to meet her eyes. “You flatter me immensely. You have as much, if not more, to give me than you know, sweet thing.” Her eyes fell on Y/N’s lips and she leaned minutely closer. “Much more.”

Y/N would have leaned in to meet her had she not pulled away and given a sultry smirk. Moira looked up over her shoulder.

“It would appear that they are playing our song.”

The music had slowed some to a moderate waltz. Moira handed her hardly-touched glass to a passing server and bowed, extending her hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Y/N felt a grin blossom on her face and set aside her glass as well to take her hand. “You may.”

Moira led them out to the floor and settled a hand on Y/N’s waist before taking them through the spinning three-step counts. Y/N was amazed at how graceful she felt being led in this dance, even in a floor-length dress and heels. She had been terrified of stepping on someone else’s feet, but with this partner she was hardly in danger. Moira’s hold on her was secure and firm, her steps sure. She dared twirl Y/N away from her and back, and she grinned as her companion giggled and pressed in close as her dress swung about her legs.

Moira led her from the three-count waltz to a slow gentle six-eight melody begun by the cellist. This was far more intimate than their first dance, and she pulled Y/N in flush against her body.

“I knew I had chosen well,” Moira said softly, deeply, in her ear. “See how you fit against me? Beautiful, intelligent, and talented, but still willing to be held and led. Absolute perfection.” She lowered her voice further. “I am tempted to take you here and now, as coaxing as you are.”

Y/N shuddered in her grasp and felt the tendrils of flames that had died down ignite in her once more.

“Ah, but we will wait. There is plenty of time for that yet.”

The song was ending, and Y/N nearly keened high in her throat as Moira pulled away and bowed. She curtsied in turn – seriously, this was _so much_ like a regency dance she couldn’t believe it – and nearly melted under Moira’s burning gaze.

Moira crooked her finger in a “come hither” motion and turned; Y/N followed. She led her past the noise of the ballroom and into the warm, red corridor, then pulled her behind a curtain hanging between two pillars.

“I don’t see why I can’t have a taste right now, though,” she purred, grasping Y/N’s bare shoulders.

Y/N wished that there wasn’t the barrier of the gloves between them, but still relished the feeling of warm leather on her skin. Moira trailed a hand up to her face, grasped her chin between her thumb and forefinger, and met her lips in a slow but consuming kiss, licking into her mouth.

Y/N sighed into the kiss. This was the fastest she had ever moved with another person, and this was her sugar mommy of all people, but _damn_ did this feel amazing. She had forgotten how wonderful just a kiss could feel, and Moira was ruining all other kisses for her forever. The hand under her chin traveled back to cradle her neck, and the hand on her shoulder skidded down over her breast and ribs to grab onto her waist and pull her closer.

In the distance was the sound of the gala, of faint strings and laughter and conversation, but all Y/N heard was the sound of her own heart in her ears and wet noises her mouth made against Moira’s. She wondered what that mouth would feel like against her naked chest, on her thighs, on her aching core, and fisted one hand in Moira’s lapel and one in that brilliant hair.

Moira grunted as fingers tugged her hair and pulled back to kiss along Y/N’s jaw and nibble down her neck. She smiled into Y/N’s pulsepoint when her breath caught in her throat and she softly moaned. Moira took that opportunity to bite and suck into that tender spot and relished the sweet, low noises her target made. Satisfied with her work, she kissed down to the neckline of the dress and back up to Y/N’s mouth, nipping once, twice, and then pressing for a final kiss.

Y/N was positive she looked entirely wrecked and thoroughly kissed. There was undoubtedly a blooming love-bite on her throat and her lips felt full and slick. Her chest rose and fell in deep breaths as she fought for composure.

Moira looked quite smug and pleased with herself. She thumbed a smear of lipstick – _Y/N’s_ lipstick – off her mouth, straightened her suit’s jacket, and smoothed down the hair at the back of her head. She looked almost put-together, if not for the shine of her lips and the dilation of her pupils. She smiled mysteriously, then pulled aside the curtain and motioned for Y/N to follow her.

Even as disheveled as she felt, she followed Moira back to the ballroom; it took no small effort to act as though there wasn’t a mark on her neck. They danced and drank and talked till the small hours of the morning, even though Y/N kicked off her shoes at some point and dozed off in the car as Moira drove her home.

Back in her bed, not even bothering to take off her makeup, she dreamed of dancing and the colors red and gold and wine and hungry kisses and was almost uncertain if it _wasn’t_ just a dream until she opened her eyes and saw her beautiful dress slung over a chair.

She nuzzled back into her pillow and closed her eyes again.

If it was a dream, she didn’t really want to wake up.


	7. Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira has a visitor. She's not compromised. She's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can lie to yourself, Moira, but you can't lie to me.
> 
> Gabriel Reyes is my real dad. Gabe, if you're out there, I love you, bitch. Ain't ever gonna stop loving you, bitch. Please adopt me.

Moira found herself humming the melody of “Vltava” from “Ma Vlast” as she buttoned up her shirt. She had uncharacteristically taken all of Sunday off and now, before sunrise on Monday, was preparing to go to her lab and work with a clear head. She was sure her absence from her work for a single day would be something Angela would comment on. Moira anticipated the temptation to quip back and tell her that there were many things that she did that could be considered “uncharacteristic” of her, but truthfully, she was content to let well enough alone. She was in a good mood, relaxed and satisfied. She didn’t feel lonely as she had just two weeks ago, and that ache in her chest had slacked some.

She looked at her watch. It was a quarter after five in the morning. Though she wasn’t a morning person in any sense, she was a poor sleeper and preferred to spend her time busy at work. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, after all. Still, she was beginning to see the value in leisure, particularly where and when Y/N was concerned. Moira had a feeling she wasn’t awake yet, but she picked up her tablet from her bedside table and began to compose a message.

Moira: _Have you any plans for this Friday evening?_

With how Saturday had gone, she saw little harm in making their meetings more frequent, more regular. She couldn’t quite pinpoint how she was feeling in regard to this arrangement. “Happy” wasn’t quite a word for it, and “satisfied” carried a connotation that suggested a different kind of arrangement than was agreed upon. “At ease” might be more accurate, though some hunger still did linger beyond the part of her that had been fulfilled through the time spent and that one kiss they’d shared.

She wanted more time with Y/N and more _of_ Y/N. More time could be bought – literally – but their acquaintance was still young, and Y/N had her boundaries that Moira was not going to breach despite wanting to. Until they crossed that particular bridge, she would sate her hunger with this girl on her arm, her lips upon hers, and her attention to herself.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Moira gave herself a nod of approval and moved to leave her flat.

At the labs, the night crew for more time-sensitive projects was just leaving for the morning. They ignored Moira for the most part, something for which she was grateful. She had little use for small talk, particularly so early in the day. Her lab was empty, as she did not employ any assistants – they got in her way – and the steel tables were cold to the touch.

She quickly got to work with her datasets, her samples, and her reports. Though she had made progress since joining with Blackwatch, she still had much farther to go until she was satisfied and had the results for which she searched. This was her calling.

It was a few hours later and several cups of tea in until Y/N responded.

Y/N: _I don’t :)_

Moira: _Then you wouldn’t be opposed to my monopolizing your time, I take it?_

Y/N: _Monopolize away_

Moira: _Brilliant. I will be round to retrieve you at 1800 for dinner. Wear something nice._

Y/N: _I can’t wait!_

Moira paused for a second before typing out her next message.

Moira: _Send me a photo of yourself as you are right now._

Y/N: _Oh? Any reason why? Not saying no._

Moira: _Need I a reason to see my baby in her natural state?_

Y/N: _Yeah, okay. Give me a second. I’m at the library._

Truth be told, she was curious about the side of Y/N she’d yet to see, the relaxed, casual side that, though not in fine dresses and illuminated by candlelight, was undoubtedly just as sweet and lovely. And this was a reasonable enough request; it wasn’t as if she was demanding anything explicit or indecent, just a self-portrait. Y/N was likely hard at work for her studies, a dedication which Moira found becoming of her.

She wouldn’t admit to herself that she wanted a little something to hold her over until the weekend.

A minute later, Moira received another message from Y/N, this one with a file attached. She opened it. It was a picture of Y/N with her chin cupped in her hand, a gentle smile on her face. She was in a soft-looking lavender sweater that was too large for her and masked her shapely curves but slid off of one shoulder, and she had a pair of glasses perched on her nose and framing her eyes. Even without makeup, her hair not meticulously styled, and with a faint trace of dark circles beneath her eyes, she was something from a dream.

Something in Moira unwound and she tilted her head in a soft, fond grin, something her mouth had rare occasion to do, or had _had_ rare occasion to do before meeting Y/N. Though this relationship was casual, without attachments and centered around a transaction, Moira still recognized the fond regard she already felt towards this girl. Their forming familiarity was what she had been seeking, and it was immensely gratifying.

Moira: _Positively gorgeous as always, sweet thing._

Y/N: _Now I know you’re just trying to flatter me._

Moira: _Perish the thought._

She set aside her personal tablet, that fond smile still on her face. That correspondence was a nice addition to her day. But now, though she had plans for the weekend, Moira still had paperwork that needed to be completed, a batch of samples to be prepared, and people with whom she needed to speak. She tempered her grin when her door chimed.

“Enter.”

Commander Gabriel Reyes, though busy, was a frequent visitor of hers for three primary reasons. First, as her work was sanctioned by and through Blackwatch, he was technically her direct supervisor, but he hardly placed any limitations on her and rarely, never, interfered with the progress of her work. Second, though less frequently than agents like McCree and Shimada, Moira’s presence was, at times, required on covert operations, mostly as a field medic and a support. (She disliked dirtying her hands, but she would see what was asked of her done regardless.) Finally, although Gabriel’s primary healthcare was originally overseen by Dr. Ziegler like the majority of Overwatch personnel for physicals and injury treatment after missions and the like, he had recently transferred his care to Moira.

She was the only one who could do anything for him at this point.

Gabriel Reyes was dying.

It had started out as a tumor, a malignant, cancerous growth. Gabriel had known about its existence and had attempted treatment with a private specialist outside of Overwatch, but to no avail; this illness he carried was resistant to everything the specialist tried. He stopped seeing that doctor and soldiered on as he always did, through immense pain and the burden of the Reaper shadowing him every day of his life.

Moira had discovered it when she was the attending doctor during one of Ziegler’s missions abroad. Gabriel had immediately pulled rank on her, ordered her to keep it classified above Ziegler’s clearance and a secret from everyone – including his husband, Strike Commander Jack Morrison. The two of them, Gabriel and Moira, were the only ones in the world who knew, and it would remain that way.

His condition was a contributing factor to her joining Blackwatch, she would later learn; her research would receive funding and would continue for the benefit of the _sub rosa_ organization, and after she discovered his condition, would be applied to keeping him from knocking on death’s door. The rest of Blackwatch, McCree, Shimada, everyone, was none the wiser.

The purpose of Gabriel’s visit today was an update on the status of the current stage of Moira’s research and, more importantly, to discuss the next step in his experimental treatment. As he walked in to her lab, she noticed the circles beneath his eyes had darkened. Though an experimental geneticist first and foremost, she had some, albeit limited, experience with medicine and was particularly apt at parsing out Gabriel’s condition. She frowned; he obviously wasn’t getting enough rest and looked as though he’d lost nearly a stone in weight since the month prior.

“Gabriel, you look ghastly,” she said in lieu of a greeting; she was never one to mince words or sugarcoat things. “When did you last sleep?”

Gabriel chuckled. “‘Why, hello, Gabriel, how have you been?’ Oh, can’t complain, and how have you been, Moira? ‘As busy as ever, thank you.’ Oh, well, good.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and he raised his hands as if in surrender.

“Alright, I can call a losing battle.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “S’probably been since, hell, Saturday night? I spent all of last night reviewing mission files and approving requisitions…”

“And your pain? The nausea?”

Gabriel’s face was unreadable. “No change.”

Moira frowned. If he, the ineffable soldier, said, “no change,” then it was at least as bad as it had been before the most recent round of treatment, if not worse. She had missed something in her work, if not taken a step backwards. While this was something to be learned from, a new path to follow, she was spinning her wheels, so to speak, with regard to the next direction she needed to go.

Whatever the case, a new methodology was required. It would simply take work, something to which she was no stranger.

“Have a seat. I will take your vitals.”

Gabriel shrugged out of his hoodie, revealing dark, scarred arms, pockmarked with countless injection sites from his days in the SEP. Her medical interface, encrypted to be beyond Overwatch medical and Angela’s reach, picked up his stats one by one. His temperature read at 33.3 Celsius, stable from last week’s reading. It had been dropping steadily from the commencement of the experiments, but his body never displayed any hypothermic symptoms. His circulation and oxygen were good, excellent even, though his blood pressure was low. A reading of his nanites showed them to be in appropriate proportion to red and white blood cells, but given that his pain had most likely worsened, that was most likely an adjustment that would need to be made.

“I’m going to need a blood sample,” she said, turning to go to her supply cabinet. “I will need to run more analyses before determining which course to take next.”

“I can’t help but wonder just how much blood I’ve given in my life. Probably enough to make another three Gabriel Reyeses,” he said.

“I can’t imagine such a thing. I believe that one is sufficient.” She rubbed his arm with disinfectant and readied the needle and vial.

“You wound me, Moira. I can think of some people who would be thrilled to have more of me in the world.” He didn’t even wince when she stuck his skin.

“Fortunately for you, I am not your husband, nor am I Jesse. Though I see even their enthusiasm at encountering multiples of you to be limited at best.”

“It would at least make my workload easier.”

“I cannot argue on that front.” Moira withdrew the needle and put down a pad of gauze. “Hold that down.”

She labeled the sample with the date and his name before walking to the specimen fridge and setting it into the rack. She brought Gabriel a bandage, which he thanked her for; he stuck it on over the gauze and slid his hoodie back over his head.

“It will take me through this week to formulate our next step, but regardless, I will need to postpone our next appointment on Friday evening. I have a… conflict in my schedule.” The work to be done wasn’t urgent, so she felt little concern for the change.

He raised a brow. “A conflict?”

“I have… plans.”

His other brow went up as well. “Plans? Why, Dr. O’Deorain, it almost sounds as though you have a _date_.”

Moira didn’t grace that with a response. She turned her attention to a data set on her desk.

“Oh, my god,” Gabriel guffawed. “You _do_ have a date. This- this is priceless.”

“Oh, don’t you start as well. I’ve already had Jesse sticking his nose into my personal matters.”

“Aw, come on. I have to know. Who is she? She’s not Blackwatch, is she?”

“You know that I do not intersect my work with my leisure.”

“Well, she has to be clever for you to spend time with her. Is she one of our scientists? One of Overwatch’s? Maybe works with Angela?”

“Absolutely not. I’d then risk Angela’s interference, and I’d _much_ rather avoid that entirely.”

Gabriel pulled at his beard. “So, not Blackwatch, not Overwatch… I didn’t think you had many acquaintances outside of… well, maybe at all.” He thought for a second then sighed. The mirth had left his eyes. “Shit, Moira… a civilian…”

Moira was silent.

“You know that’s dangerous. I don’t need to tell you that.”

“Her knowledge of much of my life is restricted,” she defended. “She knows nothing of my involvement with Blackwatch and nothing of my research other than that it is my livelihood.”

He gazed at her in contemplation. “How deeply… involved are you?”

Moira scoffed. “I don’t _love_ her, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” She shook her head. “Our relationship, though none of your business, is a casual arrangement.”

“It is my business, Moira. Especially if it compromises your work and puts the security of Blackwatch at risk.”

She scowled. “Don’t think so little of me, Commander, or of my work ethic. As I said, our arrangement is a casual one which warrants no concern on your part, or of any over Overwatch for that matter.”

Gabriel stood, face stern. “See that it doesn’t, Doctor.” With that, he turned. “I’ll schedule with you later. Have fun on your date.” He walked out the door.

Moira never did appreciate when others underestimated her conviction and dedication to her work, and very much now didn’t appreciate the suggestion that she would be so foolhardy as to allow this tryst of hers to interfere with it in any way. The security of Blackwatch she couldn’t care less about so long as her work continued funded and unimpeded.

She settled back at her desk and picked up her tablet. As she tapped the screen to life and unlocked its security, Y/N’s picture greeted her, soft and smiling and warm. Moira looked at it for a moment, then closed it and moved to an article she had been reading earlier.

 _Compromised, indeed_. She huffed a breath of contempt through her nose. _Hardly._


	8. Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and Moira take a bit of a vacation, and the tension between them coalesces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I'm not dead!!! Have some vacationing in country I've never seen and some smut!!!!
> 
> Now with an explicit rating because why not.
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience and for your lovely comments. They really help me keep going, even though I took FOREVER with this chapter. Hopefully it's worth it, though.

The semester was steadily creeping along, and Y/N found herself deep in her coursework… and in her arrangement with Moira. Since their second “date,” they had spent increasingly more time together, and she was learning more and more about this elusive woman who was her sugar momma.

She learned that Moira grew up in Galway, a Gaeltacht region, and that Gaeilge was her first language, though she was fluent in English, German, and Arabic as well. She learned that she had studied in Dublin but had later gone on to Cambridge. She learned that while she loved expensive and exquisite cuisine, she also loved Indian take-away, as hot and spicy as possible. Moira preferred tea to coffee, winter to summer, dogs to cats. Though incredibly devoted to her science, she was also well-read and could sing decently. In short, a polymath who captivated Y/N in every way.

Though she still knew next to nothing about Moira’s professional life, what her research _really_ was (other than classified), Y/N was beginning to know her as a person, and she found herself being drawn deeper and deeper into this woman.

All of their meetings had been in public places, mostly restaurants and symphony concerts and art galleries; it was a safe, comfortable pattern. The money kept coming in, and their physical involvement was limited to their original agreement – anything clothed, mostly consuming kisses – but something was beginning to shift between them. The tension of arousal was threatening to breach the surface and draw Y/N under.

Honestly, though? Let it. She would even beg for it at this point.

Now, it was just over three months into all of this, at the end of November when the chill of fall was truly setting in. Midterms had just finished, and Y/N was feeling good about her work. She was lounging in her flat with a hot cup of tea, watching the rain drizzle outside amidst the changing trees. It was a lazy kind of day, the kind for sweaters and blankets and gentle acoustic music, interrupted by her phone bleeping with a received message.

Moira: _I take it that your midterms have concluded?_

Y/N: _Yep! I did pretty well, too. I have the next four days off for a little R and R._

Moira: _Pack a bag. Bring clothes for cool weather._

Y/N: _Are we going somewhere?_

Moira: _Yes. I will be by to retrieve you in two hours._

Y/N: _I’ll be ready, then!_

She hurried to get out of her bed and dug under it for her smaller suitcase. She sorted through her clothes and selected a sweater, a couple pairs of jeans, some leggings, a long-sleeved blouse, two dresses, a large black scarf that could serve as a shawl, and a jacket. What she was wearing now would suffice, she thought as she threw in enough underwear to last for five days – better safe than sorry – and went through her toiletries for her travel-size bottles.

By the time she had gotten everything together, there was still half an hour until Moira would arrive, so she had a quick snack, brushed her teeth, and considered messing with her hair. Eh, it was fine the way it was.

When Moira messaged that she was outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast. Y/N decided not to bother with an umbrella. She locked her apartment and went down to meet Moira, who was standing outside her car, waiting. A pair of black sunglasses hid her eyes, and she was slightly dressed down compared to usual, still in slacks, but in a button-down with sleeves rolled to the elbow, the first two buttons undone, and without a tie. It was a good look for her, Y/N decided, one she’d like to see more.

(She’d also like to see her without _anything_ , but that was beside the point.)

“Hi,” Y/N breathed, grinning.

Moira smiled. “Hello.”

The wind ruffled her brilliant hair that rivaled the changing leaves. She held out her hand expectantly, and Y/N handed her the small suitcase she was carrying. The Audi had no trunk space, but some room behind the seats, where Moira had already stowed her bags and now put Y/N’s. Moira readjusted the seat and helped her companion in before rounding the front of the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“So…” Y/N drawled.

“So?” Moira repeated, arching a brow above her sunglasses.

“This is all very mysterious. Where exactly is my sugar mommy whisking me away to on such short notice?”

Moira chuckled under her breath. “I thought you deserved a particular treat for how well you’ve performed in your studies, as well as a respite from the stress they give you, no doubt. We’ll be spending a sojourn somewhere I think you’ll enjoy. Tell me, have you ever been to Greece?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Then I have the unbridled honor of introducing you to Santorini, it seems.” Moira took off down the street, in the direction of what Y/N knew now was the airport. “I do not normally condone idleness, but a leisure trip is much deserved, I think. The island is rich in history, which I believe will greatly interest you, and though the weather will be cool, the beaches are still attractive destinations.” At a light she turned to look at Y/N over the top of her sunglasses. “More importantly, I will have you alone, to myself, to spoil.”

A hot bolt of sudden arousal shot to Y/N’s core and she suppressed a keening moan that threatened to rise in her throat. Moira saw right through her and the corner of her mouth tilted up; she looked back at the road and sped off.

At the airport, Y/N was ready to jump out of her skin with both nervous anticipation and impatient excitement. They boarded, first class of course, and she reveled in the luxury of it all. There truly was something to be said for the difference between first class and economy. They had an almost private little cubicle, curtained off from the rest of the cabin, and the seats were plush. Though there were two, Moira tugged Y/N down into her lap after stowing away their luggage.

Y/N couldn’t help the “eep” of surprise that escaped her, or the mild chagrin that rose as heat in her face at being in Moira’s lap. (Surely, she was too heavy? Oh, God, she was crushing this woman’s legs, wasn’t she?) She froze as a pair of lips dragged up the length of her neck to where her pulse thrummed in her jaw.

“Is- is this even comfortable for you?” Y/N almost stuttered.

“Mmm,” Moira hummed into her neck. “I have you _exactly_ where I want you.”

 

* * *

 

The resort in Santorini was more luxurious than anywhere Y/N had ever stayed. There was a bellhop – an actual bellhop, wearing a uniform and everything – and that chandelier in the entryway had to have been genuine crystal. The humans and Omnics who meandered about were dressed casually, obviously vacationing, but it was a casual that bespoke money. The few times she had gone to the beaches in the States, she had stayed in cheaper motels and shared a bed with the friend she had traveled with to save money. Surely, she’d be sharing a bed here as well, though it would be more comfortable than any hard motel mattress, and the sleeping arrangement would be much less… platonic.

With their clothing hung in the closets and suitcases out of the way, Y/N could truly admire the room. It was well-lit with its wall-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Mediterranean, bright but elegantly furnished. The bed was a California king canopy, enormous compared to her own in her apartment, and the bedclothes were a rich-looking white, maybe even satin from the sheen. She hummed as she ran her fingers across the sheets, admiring instead jumping on it (of which she figured Moira would disapprove.) It stood upon a plush carpet that was soft under bare feet, luxuriously so. Across from the bed was an enormous bathroom suite, and in it a large marble bath and… were those jacuzzi jets? A grin broke out on her face. Oh, she was in _heaven._

Moira stood by and watched Y/N’s investigation with poorly concealed mirth. “It would appear that I have your approval.”

Y/N turned, eyes sparkling. “You _absolutely_ do. This is already so wonderful, and you haven’t even shown me the island. You spoil me.”

She _hmm e_ d low in her throat and moved forward. “It is my every intention to do so, sweet thing.”

Moira grasped Y/N’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and lifted her face into a heady kiss that sent her heart racing but ended too soon. Moira pulled away, trailing her hand down Y/N’s neck, down the slope of her shoulder, and down her arm to her hand where she entwined their fingers.

“To stay in this room was not the reason for bringing you here. We have much to see, much I wish to show you. Why don’t we get dressed, hm?”

“Of course. Where are we going first?”

“I rather thought that we would walk the beach, then find our way to dinner and drinks.”

Y/N leaned squeezed her hand. “How entirely lax. It almost sounds unstructured. Who would have ever thought you capable of it?”

Moira’s other gloved hand came round to give her a sharp smack on her rear. “Impetuous. Whatever shall I do with you, naughty girl?” Her hand rested where she had struck, a solid and steady pressure.

“I could think of a few things.” Even with her heart leaping into her throat, flirting with this woman was so effortless, so natural.

“Oh, I have no doubt of it. But first, we must make ourselves presentable for the evening.” She released her hold on Y/N’s hand and bottom with a squeeze.

They separated to attend to their separate routines, but Y/N caught Moira appraising her as she changed into one of the dresses she had brought - a blue sundress with a chiffon skirt - and her scarf-shawl to protect against the wind that rose off of the sea. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t sneaked a peek at Moira’s long arms sliding into a fresh white shirt and charcoal vest, sleeves crisply rolled to mid-forearm and unbuttoned at the throat to reveal the pale column of her neck.

At the door, Moira held out her hand. “Come,” she said simply, knowing Y/N would.

She did.

Down at the beach, they paused at the edge of the boardwalk to take off their shoes to walk in the sand. At first Y/N thought she’d laugh at Moira standing barefoot in the dark sand, shoes in hand, but her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the graceful, tall woman standing before her, brilliant hair catching the sun and contrasting sharply with the surreal blue of the sea. She looked gorgeous, handsome, otherworldly, every word Y/N could think of and more.

“You’re… you’re beautiful,” she breathed.

Moira’s face softened despite her brow arching. She reached out her hand again, and Y/N took it, stepping down into the sand. This time Y/N did giggle; she giggled at the feeling of sun-warmed sand under her feet, the kiss of the sea breeze against her skin and salt on her lips. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, just to _feel_. She wanted to run to the water, kick through the waves, dance and spin and spin until she couldn’t tell up from down or the sea from the sky.

When she opened her eyes and looked back up at her companion, she saw the beginnings of a fond smirk.

“Come along, now. We mustn’t stand here all afternoon.”

“Lead the way.”

Of course Y/N followed where Moira went, hand in hand. They would occasionally stop for Y/N to admire the sights. Moira explained how and why the beach’s sand was black and how the island came to be as it was. She obviously enjoyed educating her companion, who enjoyed hearing her speak and encouraged her with questions and insightful comments. Their pace was slow and leisurely, and Moira was clearly shortening her stride to allow for shorter legs.

As the sun fell lower in the sky, Moira more or less steered her back toward the streets, where they brushed off their feet and slipped their shoes back on. Y/N let herself be led to one of the domed white buildings -  a restaurant, she was told, with an attached bar. Nothing lowbrow, to be sure, classy and elegant as anything else Moira was prone to choose, and she was glad she wore the dress she had on.

Their dinner passed in companionable silence for the most part and once they had finished eating, Moira was quick to draw her to the bar’s terrace that overlooked the sea.

“It may seem foolishly... romantic, I will admit, but this is one of the things I wanted you to see: the sun setting over the Aegean, sinking beneath the waves,” she murmured into Y/N’s ear, handing her a glass of champagne.

“I don’t think that’s foolish at all.” Y/N smiled softly and twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I think it’s… sweet. You’re sweet.”

Moira chuckled and traced her thumb down Y/N’s jaw. “You always find ways and words to describe me that never fail to surprise.” Her eyes flickered down to her mouth, then back up to the sea. “Ah, but look, it’s almost there.”

Y/N turned her head to see a fiery sun falling steadily into the horizon, casting the sea a shimmering silver and the rocky cliffs black against a hazy purple sky. The light soaked the white stone of the terrace, washing it a soft orange, and it sparkled on the glass in her hand, igniting the bubbling champagne to molten gold.

“Oh,” she sighed. Her heart ached with the beauty of it.

At her side, Moira hummed, bringing her glass to her lips.

She stood, transfixed, until the sun had sunk beneath the silver waters, leaving in its wake a rapidly dimming sky. One by one, the stars began to twinkle over the darkened ocean, and for a moment Y/N saw what the Greeks must have seen millenia ago, spinning tales of heroes and gods, loves and tragedies, over mountain and sea. A shiver shook her from her reverie. Without the warmth of the sun on her skin, the air felt cool and the wind bit at her face more than it had. She unconsciously shifted closer to Moira for warmth and took a draught of her champagne. Though cold, the alcohol warmed her as it went down.

In the background, music was softly playing. It was a rendition of a Glenn Miller classic, and the anthropologist in her thought about how far American culture reached and influenced, particularly regarding music, even in the mid-twenty first century. Nevertheless, she enjoyed it and hummed along under her breath while leaning into Moira’s arm. Y/N almost protested when she pulled away and set her glass on the ledge, but quieted herself when Moira smiled, leaned into a bow, and extended her hand.

“May I have this dance, Ms. Y/N?”

Y/N beamed and set her glass next to its mate. “You may, Dr. O’Deorain.” She placed her hand in Moira’s, and nearly yelped when she was suddenly pulled inward, flush against the tall woman’s chest and with a hand firmly on the small of her back.

“Mmm,” Moira purred. “Perfect.”

Y/N breathed a laugh and tucked her head under Moira’s chin, her ear to her heart as they swayed gently to the music for she didn’t know how long. This was intimate, romantic one might even say - not as grandstanding as their night at the symphony in Zurich, but more raw, more tender, more familiar. She didn’t quite know what to think of it, of the steady _thump-thump_ of Moira’s heart or the way her own squeezed in her chest and felt different from the hot coal of lust she’d felt in the past. It didn’t have a name - she wouldn’t dare name it anyway - but it was like standing on the precipice of something new, even for three months of their arrangement.

A part of her whispered a warning - _too fast, too fast_ \- but dammit, never in her life had she done something unplanned, something like a leap of faith for something crazy. If she wanted something more from this arrangement, why deny herself? If they both consented - she certainly did - then what was the problem? Was she going to wait for approval? That ship had sailed. No, she was going to seize what she could and enjoy every second of it.

Y/N pulled back from Moira and was met with a quizzical brow. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it, so she did the next best thing: she grabbed Moira’s vest, pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, and pressed into a kiss she hoped conveyed everything she wanted, and then some. She took the scientist, the cool, calculated woman, by surprise before receiving in return as much fervor as she poured in.

Newton’s third law: every action has an equal and opposite reaction. For what she gave, she got back. It was what she needed to know and feel. There was no question now. She broke the kiss and met Moira’s eyes with her own. Something unspoken passed between them, and Moira’s mouth quirked up into a knowing smirk.

Y/N could hardly recount the walk back to the hotel, though it was more than a mile back. All she knew was that energy was crackling beneath her skin while she forced a composed veneer to match Moira’s unreadable face. Behind the door of their room, Y/N would have thought that the passion had suddenly fizzled out for how Moira took her time sliding off her shoes and pulling loose her tie. Y/N mirrored her, confused, toeing off her sandals and neatly draping her shawl over the chair next to the chest of drawers.

Just as Y/N was about to resign herself to bed, their eyes met in the low light. Something in the air between them suddenly shifted, like lightning striking in the night. All they were waiting for was the clap of thunder to follow. It came when Moira surged forward and backed Y/N into the wall, pinning her hands with her own. Her mouth followed, heady and sweet with the taste of champagne. Y/N sighed into the kiss and let it consume her, let her eyes flutter closed. It was a kiss not unlike others they’d shared before, but at the same time it almost seemed to herald something more intense, something deeper and heavier.

Moira pressed against her and slid a thin thigh between her legs, and Y/N’s breath hitched as she ground down against it. Long, pale hands smoothed down her arms to cup her breasts over her dress, but grew impatient without touching skin. Y/N guided her hand to the back of her dress, to where the zipper was, and moaned as Moira slid it down, tantalizingly slowly, knuckles gliding against the line of her spine. When the dress hung loose, she pushed the straps gently off of Y/N’s shoulders, and it fell to her feet in a whisper of blue chiffon. She stood before her in her black bra and a pair of compression shorts she wore to keep her thighs from chafing. It wasn’t sexy, she knew, but neither was a heat rash, and this was the lesser of two evils.

Y/N tugged the shorts down over her hips and down her legs to rest in the heap of her dress. The room wasn’t cold, but it was cool, and an open window let in the sea breeze and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Moira’s hands were cold when they settled on her hips, and Y/N keened as they glided up her sides and reached around her back to unfasten her bra. It, too, fell to the ground, and her nipples peaked in the chill.

Moira pressed in again for a kiss, licking into her mouth and feeling the weight of her breasts in her hands, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger to force a whine into the night. Helpless to her touch, Y/N clawed at Moira’s vest, feeling for the buttons and popping them one by one before attacking the buttons on her shirt. She pried the shirt out from where it was tucked and nearly cried out with triumph as she finally, _finally_ , came upon cool, bared skin. Her fingers crawled up from slim hips to a slimmer waist, up past the hard ridges of a rib cage to Moira’s breast, unbound by a bra of any kind. God, the woman walked around like that all of the time. How was she going to ever think clearly again?

Her arms slid up further to strong but rather bony shoulders and pushed desperately at the shirt that still clung to Moira’s arms and the glove that remained on her right hand. Y/N moved to tug at the glove, to feel both of her dear scientist’s hands bare on her, but was jarred by Moira suddenly pinning her hands above her head.

“Now, now,” she chided. “Don’t you go forgetting your place. I hold the reigns here, remember. I was trying to be lenient with you, allow you to guide how this goes for a time, but the control will always be mine. Do you understand?”

The heat that rushed to Y/N’s core was almost blinding in its intensity. She found herself wanting above all else for this woman to dominate her, claim her, and leave her marked for any and all to see. All she could manage in response was a nod of affirmation.

Moira tutted. “I need to hear your voice, sweet thing. I need to know that this is what you want of me.” Her knee ground up into Y/N’s core.

Y/N gasped, writhing on the thigh between her legs. “Oh- yes, Moira, yes. I want you. I want you so much… I trust you. Give me everything.”

“I’ll give you everything and more.”

She pulled her away from the wall and pushed her back toward the bed. Y/N felt her knees hit its edge and she fell back into the soft sheets. Before she could appreciate them, Moira was upon her again, devouring her mouth with a hunger she would never have known this woman to have. Biting kisses trailed down her neck, at her pulsepoint, to her sternum and to her breasts, where Moira’s lips fastened to a tight nipple. Y/N grasped bright hair, and oh, it was as soft as she’d imagined it to be.

The mouth on her breast continued down her soft stomach, leaving wet-sounding kisses and the sharp sensation of bites down to her hip, where long fingers tugged at her underwear. Y/N obligingly lifted her hips as Moira pulled them down her legs, throwing them haphazardly to the side.

“How very pretty my baby is,” she practically cooed, kissing up the inside of Y/N’s thigh. “And all mine. Tell me, _mo stor_ , to whom do you belong?”

Moira was purposefully skirting around where Y/N needed her touch most. Small, pathetic noises rose from Y/N’s mouth, and she distantly realized that she was the one making those sounds, but unable to speak. Coherence was beyond her grasp. The scientist pulled away, eyes like the embers of dying stars, one burning red and one blinding blue. Y/N groaned at the loss of her touch, but her breath caught in her throat when a strong, slender hand came up to grip her jaw.

“I asked you something,” Moira snarled, “and I expect to be answered. Now tell me, to whom do you belong?”

A part of Y/N was frightened at the intensity of what she felt at such a demand. That part of her said, _humans don’t belong to other humans_. Another part of her, one that had been deeply hidden, came surging to the surface and was singing and crying at this relinquishment of control and surrender of self. She quickly gave in to that second part and buried the fear of this strange new territory.

“You,” she keened. “I belong to you.”

Moira’s grin was smug, but it lasted only a moment before she was devouring Y/N with another heated kiss and sliding a long finger into her hot cunt. As she fucked into her with her finger, she fucked into her mouth with her tongue. The inferno that burned through Y/N’s body brought her to tears, ones she quickly shut her eyes against. Another finger joined the first, and with calculated precision, Moira curled them up and into her sweet spot.

“Oh, oh,” Y/N gasped. “Oh, Moira. There… Yes… Please, more.”

She knew she had to sound ridiculous, out of breath, and needy, but she was beyond caring when Moira’s thumb swirled over her clit in time with the thrusts of her fingers. She opened her eyes when Moira broke the kiss to find her looking down at her, analyzing every sound, every move she made, as if studying her. Though it wasn’t a peer-reviewed empirical study, this scientist was filing away all of the sensory information, figuring out how to pick her apart piece by piece, how to break down her resistance, how to consume her.

Y/N uncurled her hands from Moira’s hair and softly stroked her face. “Please let me touch you.” Her voice shook. “You’re- ah- you’re not even undressed. I want to give to you, too.”

Moira huffed. “How selfless of you. Believe you me, I find myself satisfied with my current… position, as it were.” She paused a moment in consideration. “Though, if you do insist…”

She withdrew - Y/N fought the whine that rose in her throat - and, without breaking her heated gaze, trailed her hands down to her slim hips to unbutton her trousers and let them fall down her legs along with her underwear. She rested her hands on her hips and stood there, pale skin like alabaster in the moonlight, and tall and proud as ever even for her nakedness.

“Does this please you?” Her voice was deep and dark, yet contemplative. She wasn’t asking for approval, but seemed curious as to Y/N’s thoughts.

Y/N’s eyes went misty with lust. “You’re… you’re stunning…”

Surprise flickered across Moira’s face for a moment before she regained her smug hauteur. Without gracing a response, she sauntered forward and straddled one of Y/N’s thighs.

“You will not touch me to make me cum,” she said. “You may put your hands in my hair or on my shoulders, but my pleasure will be mine to take from you. Do you understand?”

Y/N nearly pouted. “Yes, I do.”

“Excellent.”

Moira leaned forward, gripped Y/N at the crown of her head and tugged her up into a bruising kiss as she ground down on her thigh. Her other hand went back to Y/N’s wet heat, and she slid in three fingers while grinding the heel of her hand down onto her clit. She curled and thrusted her fingers in time with the rolling of her hips, never relinquishing the pressure of either hand. Y/N was helpless as she was dominated and shuddered as she felt Moira’s slick core against her thigh. Her hands flew up to rest gently on Moira’s shoulders, simply searching for a tether through the onslaught of sensation.

They broke the kiss and Y/N gasped as she felt the scientist bite under her jaw and along her neck. There would be bruises their in the morning, ones the world would see to mark her as undeniably taken.

“My lovely, sweet thing,” Moira grunted above her. “All mine to take, to destroy, to build up again and spoil rotten. You would let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Y/N cried out, hardly recognizing her own voice. The heat was building within her, ready to spark like lightning and roll through her like thunder. “Oh, oh yes. Please, please, please.”

“So good for me. Such a good girl. Tell me, do you want to cum?”

“Yes, Moira please, let me cum! I need it, oh please…"

The corner of Moira’s mouth quirked up. “Well, you have been so well-behaved. I will allow it. Cum for me, Y/N, now.”

With that, Y/N’s back arched and her climax rippled through and down her spine. She spasmed around the fingers still curling in her, but Moira didn’t withdraw. She chased her own pleasure, rolling her hips and keeping up the pressure against Y/N’s clit. Tears sprung to Y/N’s eyes as the stimulation became too much, bordering on painful pleasure, and as Moira came on her thigh, she came a second time with a sigh, this climax gentler than the last, but no less intense.

Moira eased up and off to lay on her side. She looked sated, but the analytical gleam to her eye remained as she regarded the woman beside her. Y/N swallowed heavily as heart breathing and heart slowed. She felt warm and weary in the best of ways, her limbs heavy. She looked up at Moira, who reached to trail a finger along her jaw and smiled complacently.

“Sleep now, sweet thing,” she murmured, stroking back over Y/N’s forehead. “You did so well for me, my good girl.”

Y/N gave a drowsy smile in return and closed her eyes.

She slept.


End file.
